Remember to Love
by firewaterspaceairearth
Summary: A group of prequels/sequels/deleted scenes from my story Learn to Forget (you should probably read it first). Mostly Kurt & Blaine-centric but other characters can appear. OPEN TO PROMPTS.
1. The Train Station

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

The two men made their way through the train station swiftly, strides matching each other's perfectly.

"I can't wait to meet your family, Kurt. They won't kill me, will they?"

The taller man managed a weak laugh as a response.

"Hey, are you ok?"

A half hearted nod quickly turned into a shake of the head. Blaine stopped, frowning at him.

"You didn't take your medication, did you?"

He rummaged in his pockets for the packet he tried to carry everywhere with him. He swore as his hands came up empty.

"Kurt," he said exasperatedly, "why didn't you take your medication?" Kurt shrugged pleadingly.

"It makes everything all dull. I don't want to go all drugged up, I want to go as me."

Blaine dropped the subject as they approached their platform. Soon, whispers began to spread round the crowds.

"Is that..."

"No way."

"Oh my god! Over there!"

"Look, give me your camera!"

"Hey! It's Kurt Hummel!"

Suddenly, the pair were swarmed by a group of excited tourists. Kurt gripped Blaine's arm, allowing his husband to lead him away from the mob.

"Wait! Sign my jacket!"

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!"

"I love you, Kurt!"

They rushed after them, crowding round closer and closer.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered, breath hitching as he clung to the other man's arm. Blaine recognised the first signs of a panic attack building and stepped in front of him, holding his hands up in an attempt to stop the crowd.

"Hey, guys, stop, ok? We're in a hurry, and we don't want any trouble, so just back off, ok?"

The fans ignored him, screaming Kurt's name along with ridiculous pleas and declarations. Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand in a death grip.

"B-blaine," he stammered. Blaine spun round, taking in Kurt's pale face, breathing shallow and trembling. He put his hands on Kurt's shoulders, pulling his husband close.

"Hey, Kurt, stay with me, ok?"

The slim man was shaking, tears flowing silently. The crowd pressed closer, demanding to know what was going on, pushing the couple to the edge of the platform. Blaine turned away to try and attract a security guard.

"Blaine... I think...I t-think..." Kurt stammered quietly, before he swayed on his feet and collapsed over the edge of the platform. Several people in the crowd screamed. Blaine fell to his knees, reaching as far as he could. A deadly silence fell as he grabbed Kurt's wrist, scraping his hand against the stone as he struggled to pull the taller man up.

"Kurt!" he shouted. "Help, please, somebody help me!"

Kurt's hand was slipping out of his grasp. Before he could crumple on the rail tracks, Blaine jumped down, ignoring the sting in his scraped hands, lowering Kurt's head into his lap. A shout from above made him look up, eyes swimming with panicked tears. A burly security guard was leaning over the edge.

"Hey, mate, calm down. I don't want to scare you, but there's a train due in five minutes, so we need to get you two up. Can you try and give me his hands?"

Numbly, Blaine heaved Kurt's torso up. The man lifted his husband up, then offered a hand to Blaine.

"Need a hand?"

Soon, Blaine was sat on the edge of the platform, head in hands. The security guards had sent the crowd away, and were working on shooing away a skinny reporter who Blaine could still hear vaguely.

"This is Jacob Ben Israel, reporting from New York Central Station, where famous fashion designer Kurt Hummel appears to be suffering from some sort of breakdown-"

The security guard who had helped them came over and tapped Blaine's shoulder.

"I'll take him to our staff base, if you need me to. Is he ok?"

Blaine jumped, looking at the man lying beside him. Kurt was pale and trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps. Blaine knelt by his side, tapping his cheek lightly. There was no response.

"He needs..," he said shakily, voice little more than a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"He needs a hospital."

The security guard called a taxi, after Blaine said that an ambulance would attract more attention, and helped Blaine carry Kurt to the entrance. Blaine shook the man's hand, thanking him again, before climbing in after Kurt.

"Can we go to the nearest hospital, please?"

The driver nodded, and began driving. Blaine lifted Kurt's head into his lap, stroking his hair gently. The pale man shivered, struggling to breathe through barely suppressed sobs.

"Shh, Kurt. I'm here, it's alright. Calm down, shh."

Kurt whimpered softly, eyes shut tightly. Blaine had once asked Kurt what it was like to have a panic attack, back when they were still in Dalton. He had sat silently for a few minutes before saying that it was like being trapped in a nightmare, but on two levels, the flashbacks and the real world. Terrifying, he'd said. Imagine all your scariest nightmares smothering you at once, you can't breathe, see, move, anything. Blaine thought Kurt had been pretty drugged up when they had that conversation. That or his condition had gotten worse over the years. At the first appointment which Blaine had attended with Kurt, he had been told that this might happen.

_"Kurt has a condition called Acute Panic Disorder. This is caused by a severe disruptive event, which leaves deep mental scars associated with certain triggers. The main problem with this is that an attack can build new triggers, based on the surroundings or people involved. This may or may not happen, but it is only fair to warn you."_

As the taxi pulled up outside the hospital, the therapist's words came back to Blaine. His heart clenched as he paid the driver before half carrying Kurt through to the desk. The bored looking receptionist handed him a form. When he handed it back in, she glanced at it before doing a double take, eyes flitting from Kurt to the form to Blaine.

"Yes, it's _the_ Kurt Hummel, yes, I'm his husband, and yes, he needs medical help," Blaine snapped. He was tired and worried, nerves stretched to breaking point. The receptionist tapped a number on the phone, and several minutes later, a doctor appeared with a stretcher. They took Kurt to a more private area, asking Blaine to explain. As he did, they set Kurt up with an IV and oxygen mask. Within five minutes, Kurt was breathing more evenly, though he was still scarily pale. Blaine rubbed his hands gently, coaxing him to unclench his fists. Eventually, the doctor removed the mask and left the pair alone. Blaine dropped a soft kiss onto Kurt's cheek, wrapping his arms around the slim man.

"Kurt, talk to me. You're fine, right? Not hurt?"

Kurt stared blankly for a few seconds, before burrowing into Blaine's chest and beginning to cry. Blaine hugged him tightly.

"Oh, Kurt, it's ok. Why are you crying?"

Kurt just shook his head, sobbing into Blaine's chest.

"Kurt, I can't help if you don't say what's wrong."

Memories surfaced of the two of them as teenagers, in the same position. Softly, Blaine began to sing.

_"You think I'm pretty_

_Without any makeup on_

_You think I'm funny_

_When I tell the punchline wrong_

_I know you get me_

_So I let my walls come down, down,"_

Kurt tensed for a second, before quieting in Blaine's arms.

_"Before you met me_

_I was alright, but things_

_Were kinda heavy_

_You brought me to life_

_Now every February_

_You'll be my valentine, valentine,"_

For a moment, it was like they were teenagers again, Kurt having slipped into Blaine's room in the middle of the night because of nightmares, needing comfort. Often, Blaine would sing this exact song.

"We're not going to be able to go to L-lima, are we," Kurt whispered brokenly. Blaine shook his head sadly, holding Kurt as he continued to cry.

Down the hall, a young blonde nurse heard the noise and poked her head in. What she saw was a pale young man sobbing in the bed, wrapped in the arms of a curly haired man singing softly. She cleared her throat.

"Everything ok?"

The darker man broke off to smile sadly at her.

"Not really."

"Anything I can do to help? Call someone, family perhaps?"

At her words the man winced, before sitting up straighter, patting the crying man's shoulder.

"I need to call someone, actually. Can you look after him for five minutes, please?"

She nodded, taking his place in the chair. She flicked through the chart, doing a double take before frowning sympathetically.

Blaine found a quiet corner and dialled the number tentatively. It was picked up within a couple of rings.

_"Hey, Blaine, you nearly there yet?"_

Blaine winced. Kurt's dad sounded so eager, unsurprisingly.

"There was an incident, at the train station."

Burt's breathing caught.

_"How bad?"_

"Bad. Really bad. We're at the hospital, he's not hurt, just he couldn't...god, he couldn't breathe," Blaine choked out. There were several seconds of silence.

_"So you can't come."_

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should have made sure he took his medication, I should have been-"

_"Blaine, it's not your fault. Just... look after my boy, ok?"_

"Yeah. Of course. Goodbye."

The call cut off. Blaine stuffed his phone in his pocket and slid down the wall, head in hands. He felt so guilty and miserable. Kurt hadn't seen his family since he moved to New York. He had kept in touch with phone calls and stuff, but he refused to use Skype, on the basis that images were harder to deal with. Blaine had only ever met Burt when he brought and collected Kurt to and from Dalton. He knew that he had a stepbrother and stepmother too, but he had never even talked to them. He bit his lip. This was going to break Kurt's heart. He would want to talk about it when the medication wore off. As he went back to Kurt's room he ran through in his head what he could say. When he stepped into the room he saw the young nurse from earlier gently stroking a sleeping Kurt's hair.

"We're going to keep him in overnight, just to make sure nothing's wrong. What about you, Mr..."

"Blaine, Blaine Hummel-Anderson," Blaine said. A flash of understanding crossed her face.

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry, I hadn't quite realised..."

"It's ok. At least you're not homophobic."

The nurse blushed, quickly straightening Kurt's blanket before scurrying away. They'd changed him into a hospital gown, Blaine noticed. He would pitch a fit about that in the morning. The nurse reappeared with a large chair which she placed next to the bed.

"Normally, people can't stay overnight, but with a panic disorder, it's probably best if you stay. I'm sorry I couldn't find something more comfortable for you..."

"It's fine, really. Thank you for being so helpful," Blaine said, holding out a hand for her to shake. She looked at it critically, gasping.

"Goodness, what happened?"

Blaine looked down at his grazed, bloody hand with confusion, before remembering scraping it as he tried to pull Kurt up from the rail tracks. He shrugged as the nurse grabbed a small cloth and bowl of water.

"It was the side of a railway. Kurt collapsed, a combination of not taking his medicine, over excited fans and just stress, and I was trying to pull him up."

The nurse gasped, gently dabbing away the smears of blood.

"Oh my god. Are you actually serious?"

Blaine smiled wanly.

"I wouldn't joke about it."

The nurse nodded understandingly, sticking a small bandage over the grazes.

"I'll leave you two alone then. Press this button if you need anything, ok?"

She left the room, clicking the door shut behind her. Blaine leant back in his chair. Kurt wouldn't wake up for ages, so he may as well get some sleep.

He woke up to something tapping him gently.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled before he remembered what had happened, where he was. His eyes flew open.

"Kurt!"

He winced as he discovered a painfully stiff neck. Kurt's slim fingers rubbed gently at it.

"Kurt, are you ok?"

"I'm fine," the other man said, turning his head away slightly as Blaine sat up. Blaine cupped his husband's face in his hands, turning it to face him. He gasped.

"Oh, Kurt..." A dark purple bruise blossomed along his jawbone. It was probably from falling and hitting the concrete.

"It's just a bruise, Blaine. What about you, god, what happened to your hands?"

Blaine shrugged.

"It's nothing. Just a couple of scrapes."

Kurt stroked the bandages softly, blue-green eyes staring straight at Blaine.

"I'm sorry," he blurted suddenly.

"What for?"

"I just...I ruin everything. I know you wanted to get away from the city, and we were going to see Dad and everyone, and now..."

Blaine folded the man into a tight embrace.

"It's ok. We can go another time."

But in his heart, he knew they couldn't. Not for a while. A long, long while. The nurse from last night popped her head round the door.

"Oh, you're both awake, great! Do you want breakfast, or to be discharged straight away? Oh, sweetie, look at your poor cheek..."

Kurt looked at Blaine again. The word caught in his throat, but Blaine could see in his eyes what he was trying to say.

_Home._


	2. Teenage Dream

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

Blaine woke up to a tapping on his door.

"What?" he mumbled before shifting over in his bed, switching on the bedside lamp as the door swung open. Kurt stumbled quickly across the floor and paused next to the bed.

"Kurt, it's two in the morning," Blaine looked at him, reaching up to pat his shoulder. The boy was shivering violently, ice cold. Stifled sobs were escaping his clenched lips, choking him slightly. Suddenly wide awake, Blaine sat up.

"Hey, hey, Kurt, what's wrong?"

He pulled the shaking teen down onto the bed next to him, wrapping an arm round his shoulders. Kurt flinched away from the touch.

"Nononononono..." he whimpered. Blaine frowned, trying again softly.

"Kurt, what happened?"

Kurt tucked his knees under his chin, shaking his head frantically.

"Nonononono... Can't tell, he'll kill me if I tell..."

Blaine put a hand on the boy's shoulder, pulling it back as Kurt jerked away from him, landing on the floor with a soft thud. He hissed in pain as Blaine dropped next to him.

"Kurt, what's going on? You're scaring me, c'mon, please..."

The countertenor curled into a tiny ball on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Unsure of how to help, Blaine turned to the thing which he always did if he didn't know what to do.

_"You think I'm pretty_

_Without any makeup on_

_You think I'm funny_

_When I tell the punchline wrong_

_I know you get me_

_So I let my walls come down, down,"_

Kurt stilled slightly. Blaine kept singing. Eventually, the boy slumped to the floor, allowing Blaine to lift him back onto the bed. His body was scarily limp, but he weighed next to nothing. Blue-green eyes flickered open, glistening with tears.

"Hey, you ok?"

Kurt nodded, the movement jerky and disconnected.

"What happened? You just turned up in my room at two in the morning, and basically collapsed. Are you ok? Do you sleepwalk? Are you still asleep?"

Kurt coughed.

"P-panic..."

Blaine offered him a cup of water, holding it for him when he nearly dropped it with shaking hands. He tried again, voice slightly stronger.

"P-panic a-attack. I g-get them sometimes, s-sorry, I j-just didn't know what to d-do."

He staggered to his feet, but the colour drained from his face and he collapsed to the floor. Blaine jumped up to catch him, guiding him onto the bed. Kurt slumped against the shorter boy's chest, struggling to catch his breath. Worried, Blaine helped him sit up, supporting him.

"Are you ok? Do you need anything? Can you breathe ok?"

Kurt shook his head.

"A-attacks...T-they take a l-lot out of m-me," he mumbled, eyes sliding closed.

"I n-need my m-medicine...l-later."

Blaine was still confused. He arranged Kurt more comfortably and turned off his light. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning.

However, barely an hour later, Blaine was woken by a hard punch in the eye. Barely awake, he shoved in the direction of the puncher, pushing somebody off his bed. It wouldn't have been the first time the Warblers had attacked him in his sleep. Those guys were crazy. But the high pitched, terrified scream which accompanied the resounding thud set alarm bells ringing in his head. His brain began to work, albeit slowly (it _was_ only three in the morning), connecting the dots.

_Kurt...panic attack...stayed..._

Blaine swore, falling out of bed in his efforts to find the countertenor. Tangled in sheets, he scrabbled on the floor, trying to find the source of the whimpers.

"Kurt?" he whispered, guilt filling him. He crawled into the wall by mistake and found the lightswitch. Kurt was curled up pitifully at the foot of his bed, trembling. As Blaine approached, he scrabbled away frantically, a jumbled stream of pleas falling from his lips. Blaine's heart twisted. This was his fault. Someone knocked on the door, and David's head popped round the edge.

"What the hell is going on? Blaine, it's three in the morning! Woah- what happened? You do know that sort of thing isn't-"

Blaine stood up, hands held out helplessly.

"It's nothing like that. Something's wrong with Kurt. He turned up a while ago, in the middle of a panic attack. I managed to calm him down and he fell asleep, but he woke up, had a nightmare or something and punched me in the eye. I kinda shoved him, I was half asleep, but I think... I think I set this off. I don't know what to do, David. He needs his medicine but I don't want to leave him..."

David's mouth had fallen open. He swore softly.

"Jeez, poor guy. I'll go get the medicine, his room's number seven, right? How did you calm him down before? Try that again, ok?"

He left, and Blaine knelt down next to his terrified friend. Hesitantly, he began to sing again, voice cracking. Kurt stiffened, twitching slightly before slumping into Blaine's arms, sobs still shuddering through him. David returned with a small packet and an ice pack.

"There you go, dude. It says to take one every twelve hours, do you think that'll be ok?"

Blaine looked down at the trembling boy, holding a hand out for the pill.

"What's the ice pack for?"

"Your eye, dude. It looks pretty bad."

Blaine nodded absent mindedly, setting the blue pack on the floor next to him.

"I'm going back to bed now, if that's alright?"

"Yeah, thanks David. Sorry," Blaine replied, eyes flickering up to the closing door briefly before switching back to Kurt. The countertenor was just lying there, eyes closed, chest heaving. Somehow, it was worse than the frantic tears.

"Kurt, it's me, Blaine. Can you... Can you hear me?"

Kurt nodded, the movement almost invisible.

"I've got your medication here, David went and got it, you need to take it, Kurt, c'mon, open your eyes, that's it, c'mon, it's ok, nobody's going to hurt you, you're alright..."

His voice fell into a soft, rhythmic stream of comforting words, and slowly, Kurt came back. Eventually he was sat up, leaning against Blaine's chest. Blaine reached over and grabbed his glass of water from the bedside table, handing it to Kurt. He took it back as Kurt almost dropped it with shaking hands.

"Watch out, here, I'll help," he said quietly. Kurt blushed, but swallowed the pill.

"B-blaine," he said softly, voice cracked and dry.

"Yeah?"

"C-can I sleep here? With you?" His eyes widened as he realised what he'd just said.

"N-not like that, I just... Don't wanna be alone," he whispered, turning his face up to to Blaine's. Blaine smiled.

"Sure."


	3. Sunflowers and Apple Blossom

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

"-So what's this one?"

"That's a dandelion, Blaine."

"Oh, ok. And this?"

"Lavender. You know, as in Brown?"

"Yes! I _knew_ you would make a Harry Potter reference at some point! Seriously, everybody does."

"Does that have something to do with the fact that you're practically a Harry Potter lookalike?"

Kurt bit back a laugh as Blaine went cross-eyed trying to look at his own face.

"Why does everybody say that? I look nothing like Harry Potter! He has green eyes, and...and straightish hair, and a British accent, and-"

"Blaine, so far on this walk I have seen at least three small children spot you, and promptly stare hopefully at your forehead."

Blaine scowled. Kurt laughed as they continued down the path. The sun was shining, warm rays painting the park in softer, more welcoming shades. Blaine pointed to a slightly taller plant growing by the edge of a tree.

"Ok, what's that?"

"An ash tree."

"No, the plant."

"Seriously? That's grass, Blaine."

Blaine stepped off the path, pointing to the stems.

"It's grass, Blaine."

"But it's _tall_!"

"It's long grass."

"It has seedy things!"

"That's what happens to grass when it gets long, Blaine."

"Really?"

"How do you not know this?"

"Why do you know this?"

The two stared at each other for a second. Kurt sighed.

"My mom... She was really into all this botany stuff. She'd take me on walks, point at all the flowers and tell me what they were. I guess I kept the habit."

Blaine came back to Kurt's side, wrapping an arm round his shoulders.

"Ok, then. If that's grass, and that's an ash tree, then what's this?"

"An apple tree, see all the blossom?"

"Yeah. It's beautiful. Like you."

The statement was punctuated with a kiss on the cheek. Kurt looked at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"I'm an... apple tree?"

Blaine blushed, shuffling his feet lightly.

"I guess... It's like...you're pale, and the flowers are white, but they're pink as well. Now you're blushing, see?"

Kurt laughed, casting his eyes round the park for a similar comparison.

"Ok, then. You're a... a sunflower."

Blaine glanced at him, a smile lighting his face. Kurt continued, brushing his hand through Blaine's hair.

"You are. When people see you, they smile. You stick around for as long as you can. The height factor, I must admit, is not so accurate..."

"Hey!"

"Speak for yourself, but my grandmother always said that height is not a measure of character."

Blaine beamed, dropping another kiss onto Kurt's shoulder.

"Come with me. There's somewhere I want to show you."

* * *

The two boys flopped down onto the bench behind the thick hedge, hands linked together tightly.

"I love you," Blaine blurted suddenly. Kurt turned, blue-green eyes meeting the hazel. Blaine stared earnestly back at him, a slight frown appearing on his face.

"If...if that's ok?"

Kurt dropped Blaine's hand, shuffling away slightly. Thoughts raced through his head, centering on the boy before him.

"Kurt? I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

That was all Blaine got out before Kurt pressed their lips together in a soft, tender kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds.

"I...I love you too."

Blaine stared dumbstruck for several seconds, before a splitting grin tore across his face.

"Really?"

"Really really."

The pair sat together, hands linked as the sun shone and birds flew by, singing softly. Something vague in Kurt's mind twitched, a vague impression of grabbing hands, rain mixing with blood, and a hissing, harsh voice in his ear, spitting the same words but in such a different way.

**"I love you."**

Blaine said something sweet and funny to him, and Kurt smiled, nodding lightly. He looked at his boyfriend's face, eyes slightly squinted in the sun, but still shining with happiness.

_I love you._

Kurt rested his head on Blaine's shoulder, taking in the perfection of the moment.

_I love you._

There would be no bad memories today.


	4. Personal Stuff

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

Kurt was fine, sort of, with Blaine knowing about his panic disorder, and David had promised not to say anything. His therapist had recommended that he had at least one 'safe person' who he could count on to help with any incidents. He had hoped to keep it a secret from the general student body, however. He liked being treated normally, no bullies, no trouble, less memories. Typically enough, it didn't last more than three weeks.

The attack itself was fairly small, compared to what he'd experienced since. He was walking through the halls with a stack of photocopies for his French teacher, when suddenly a boy ran past him, a draught sending his pile of verbs flying to the floor. He knelt down, careful of his still aching ribs, and slowly began to gather them up. Another boy charged down the hall, attempting to catch the first.

"Jeff! Wait!"

As the blonde ran back down, he was tackled by his friend. The pair slipped on a sheet of paper, crashing down on top of Kurt. Kurt barely kept himself from screaming as he felt his healing ribs crack under the weight of the two boys. They scrabbled off him, gabbling apologies.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry-"

"It was Jeff's fault-"

"No, it was Nick's, he pushed me over-"

"Wait, it's the new guy. Kurt, right? Are you ok?"

Kurt shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. His chest felt like it was on fire, streaks of pain burning through it with every gasp.

"B-blaine," he whispered, teeth gritted. Nick was still picking himself up from the mess of papers and spilt schoolbooks, but when he heard the faint sound he paused.

"What? Holy- Jeff, come back here, something's wrong!"

He knelt down beside Kurt, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Kurt flinched away from the touch, crying out in pain and fear.

"Kurt, calm down, you're ok. Do you want me to get somebody? The nurse?"

Another boy dropped to the ground next to him, but Kurt barely noticed him. His mind was slowly filling with memories of punches and rain and blood and pain, agonising pain as he fell to the ground.

"Blaine," he croaked out.

"I think he said Blaine."

"Figures. Blaine's probably the sanest person here, and he totally has a crush on Kurt."

"Jeff! Focus! Call Blaine, or text him, send him a freaking owl if you want, but please hurry up!"

Kurt flinched away from the raised voice, shaking Nick's hand from his shoulder. Shakily, he tried to stand, to run, but barely made it to a crawl before he collapsed, pain burning, breath hitching. The bell rang, students in dark blazers spilling out into the hall. The voices quieted as they saw the boy lying motionless amongst the scattered papers. A voice burst through the silence, pounding footsteps crashing on the floor.

"Kurt! Let me through, this is important!"

Blaine Anderson charged through the mess of students, skidding to a halt as he saw the pale boy, face creased in pain, crumpled amongst the paper. He dropped to his knees next to him, snapping a brisk "What happened?" to Nick and Jeff. The two explained, stammering, how they had fallen and landed on him. Blaine swore, before gesturing for them to herd the staring students away. That was how they knew something was really wrong. Blaine never swore. The two shooed the other boys away, before retreating to a few meters away, watching Blaine cradle the newest student softly.

"Is he singing 'Teenage Dream'?" Jeff whispered. Nick nodded.

"I wonder what happened?"

Blaine lifted the boy's head into his lap, automatically beginning to hum gently. He dragged Kurt's bag over, rummaging in it for the little packet of pills. He popped one out and held it out to Kurt, offering him a bottle of water. Kurt struggled to sit up, but slumped again with a pained gasp.

"Kurt? What's wrong?"

The skinny boy swallowed the pill, eyes flickering with pain.

"My ribs...when they fell, I think... I think they're broken again."

Gently, Blaine tugged Kurt's shirt up. He patted his chest softly, pulling his hand back as Kurt hissed in pain. Nick and Jeff edged forward, wincing as they saw the outline of Kurt's bruised, skeletal chest. Blaine turned to them, face grim.

"Jeff, go get the nurse. He's hurt."

Jeff took one look at Kurt's pale, taut face, and sprinted away. Nick knelt down next to Blaine.

"Is he ok?"

Blaine shook his head, focussing on carefully shifting Kurt to a more comfortable position. Nick patted the boy's hand, frowning at Blaine's worried face.

"What happened?"

Blaine glanced at him briefly before turning back to Kurt. Nick blinked. He and Jeff weren't that heavy, they hadn't been that rough...had they? He looked at Kurt again. The slim boy was wheezing painfully, skin ashen against Blaine's dark blazer.

"Jeez, dude, can you breathe ok?" he blurted. Kurt shook his head weakly, clutching at Blaine's sleeve. Blaine stroked back the brown hair scattered over his forehead, biting his lip.

"Kurt, I need you to breathe. C'mon, in, out, in, out..."

Kurt shook his head again.

"Not...attack," he rasped. "Hurts..."

Blaine glanced worriedly around the corridor. A couple of minutes later, Jeff returned with the school nurse. She pushed Nick out of the way slightly, taking in Kurt's shaky, weak breathing.

"Is he having an attack?" she said briskly to Blaine.

"He said he wasn't but I've given him a pill. Apparently these two fell on him. I think he had a small one but it was mostly over by the time I got here. I think something's wrong with him, though. He's hurt."

Kurt shifted in Blaine's arms.

"Ribs..." he croaked.

The nurse frowned.

"Kurt, honey, what do you think's happened?"

"They fell," he whispered, gesturing weakly at Nick and Jeff.

"They l-landed on me, and I t-think my r-ribs...I think they b-broke again."

The nurse glanced at Blaine.

"Call an ambulance, Blaine. Kurt, where on the scale would you put your pain right now?"

Kurt shrugged, wincing as the movement agitated his ribs. As the nurse talked to him, Nick tapped Blaine on the shoulder.

"Care to explain?"

"He might, later. I've been telling him he needs to tell you guys, but it's really..."

"Private? Bad? Blaine, is it dangerous?" Jeff asked worriedly. A couple of paramedics jogged down the corridor towards them, and Blaine moved back, sliding Kurt's head out of his lap. He whispered something in the boy's ear, and began to walk away. Nick and Jeff ran after him.

"Blaine? What is it?"

He turned on his heel, eyes flashing.

"It's just really _personal_, and it's not my secret, guys, so leave it!" he said, and for the first time Nick and Jeff realised his hands were shaking.

"Blaine..."

"Really personal. Just... He'll tell you when he's ready."

He walked away down the corridor. At the other end, the medics were lifting Kurt onto a stretcher. The nurse looked up and saw them.

"Go along to class, boys. I've got some late passes for you."

They took the bits of paper, and walked to their classes. At the door, they paused.

"Do you think he'll be ok?"

"I hope so. Seriously, though, what happened?"

Both boys shared a sad, questioning look, before Jeff pushed open the door, handing in the late slip.

Later, in Warbler practice, Kurt would slip in quietly. Everyone would be drawn to the thick bandages they could see through his loose t-shirt. Before they got started, he would explain what had happened. How bullies at his old school had beat him up, left him for dead, broken his ribs, sprained his wrist, given him a concussion, other...things. The ribs were still healing, and they'd broken again when Nick and Jeff fell on him, less severely but still a major setback. And then he explained the panic attacks, explained the reason Blaine had shown up with a black eye a couple of weeks ago, explained the sudden flinches, the constant fear. And all through this baring of his soul, Nick and Jeff sat stunned.

_Personal stuff._

No kidding.


	5. Everyone cries

_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

Burt Hummel had only cried five times in his adult life.

First, when his little boy was born. He saw the tuft of brown hair wrapped in blankets, so little, so innocent, and sat down in the chair, taking his wife's hand silently.

Second, when Elizabeth died. He hadn't cried as much as you'd think. He had to look after Kurt, everything else. But one night he was lying in the big empty bed, all alone.

Third, when Kurt got attacked by some jerks. They broke his ribs, sprained his wrist, gave him a concussion. But worse than the bruises and broken bones, was the look of terror and pain in his boy's eyes.

Fourth was when his little boy got married. He couldn't come to the wedding, couldn't meet his son-in-law. Too many memories, the doctor said. Add that to the stress of this whole thing, and it couldn't go well. He couldn't have traveled easily anyway, but still. Blaine sent him a DVD, showing a tiny ceremony, with literally nobody there except Kurt, Blaine and the official. He'd taken a little portable DVD player to Elizabeth's grave, shown her it.

Fifth was when his baby came home. The couple had flown at night, and apparently they'd slept most of the way. The curly-haired man from the film, and from before, when he was a dapper, kind boy in a Dalton jacket, followed his son up the driveway. Kurt paused at the door, looking up at the house. Burt pulled it open. The two men jerked back in surprise, but then Kurt was flying into his arms, tears coursing down his cheeks. Blaine stood to the side, but was beckoned in by Finn. Burt hugged his son, almost thirty, not a baby anymore but still his boy, still his Kurt.

* * *

Blaine winced as he drove past McKinley High School. He cast an anxious glance at his husband, but Kurt was still sleeping, a combination of the long, late night journey and a heavy dose of medication. He checked the directions on his phone, pulling up outside a neatly painted house.

"Kurt," he murmured, gently rubbing his husband's shoulder. "We're here."

Kurt fidgeted in his seat, before bolting upright as he caught a glimpse of the house. Blaine reached out an arm to steady him.

"Ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

They walked up the drive. Kurt had stopped, staring at the painted door, when it opened. Kurt stood still for a second, then lunged forward.

_"Dad,"_ he sobbed. The same word, over and over again. Blaine stood awkwardly for several seconds, before he noticed Finn beckoning him. He dodged in, fist-bumping the taller man.

"Hey, Finn."

"Hi, dude. Everything ok?"

Blaine knew that translated as "How's Kurt doing?" He nodded, gesturing to the porch, where the two men were still locked in an embrace.

"Cool. Mom wanted to speak to you?"

Blaine followed the tall man through to the sitting room, where a kind-faced woman was waiting.

"Hello, Blaine."

"Mrs Hummel, it's great to meet you. I can't say I've heard a lot about you, but..."

"Sit down, Blaine."

Blaine sat on the side of the couch. Carole leant over, taking both of his hands in hers.

"I know Burt wanted to say this to you himself, but I think he'll be busy with Kurt for a while. We just wanted to thank you, for keeping him safe for all these years. When Finn called us, and said that he'd met up with you, that you were both happy and safe... God, we were just so _relieved_."

Blaine nodded, tears threatening to rise to his eyes. Finn sat down next to him.

"It's ok, dude. Everything's ok. You're not on your own anymore. You've got me, and Rachel, and Santana, and Mercedes, and now you've got Mom and Burt too. It's _ok_."

Blaine nodded, tears misting up his eyes.

"Yeah," he choked. "Yeah, it is."

Finn put an arm round him, and Blaine turned his face into his chest, crying, properly crying, for the first time in so, so long.

Sometimes, everyone cries.

And sometimes, it's ok.


End file.
